


Father

by falseintrospective (BoyGirlBothNoneImTheUniverse)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Family Drama, Father-Daughter Relationship, Feels, Gen, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:40:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18394121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoyGirlBothNoneImTheUniverse/pseuds/falseintrospective
Summary: She’s almost asleep, has been dozing for almost five minutes, when a knock at the door shatters her world.Her daddy stands, gently running his hand over her head, his attention soft and affectionate. She knows he doesn’t want to move her, but she doesn’t put up a fuss, only grumbling slightly and sitting up sleepily. He steps over Uncle Johnny’s sprawled form and opens the door.She thinks it’s probably the last door he would open on his own for the next two years.





	Father

**Author's Note:**

> written as a writing assignment that ended up being too personal to submit

_ She doesn’t remember every detail from that night. She doesn’t spend every waking moment analyzing that night, nor does she even want to. When she feels regret and embarrassment, she finds herself thinking about that time she misspoke at the Ohio Model United Nations, or the time she ran her bike into a bush and her mother was too busy laughing to help her climb out of it. She never thinks of that night as a personal regret, not like the others, so she doesn’t usually find an excuse to think about it. _

_ She is sitting up in her bed, pillow hugged against her chest as she absent-mindedly flips through channels and methodically eats Fritos from her favorite bowl. She’s licking the salt off of her fingers when she notices her position. Her knees are pressing the pillow snuggly up against her entire front and the salty, oily feeling in her mouth is what allows her to remember. _

The taste of chicken, and mashed potatoes and gravy, is a familiar one and she licks her lips as she sees herself sitting happily on her grandmother’s couch. Grandma GG is sitting in her lazy boy chair, sipping a late-night cup of coffee as she watches a random Lifetime movie on the small TV screen in front of the window. 

The trailer is warm around them and she feels content, her side pressed against her daddy’s, his arm moving occasionally as he continues to lightly argue with her Uncle Johnny. They’re arguing about the government, a conspiracy theory here and a slur there, but she doesn’t care much for any of those things. She’s in elementary school, her pigtails showing her age. She doesn’t care what they’re arguing about, only that her daddy is being careful as he moves around, never dislodging her from her comfortable position.

_ He always runs warm, she thinks as she imagines him in that moment. _ He doesn’t wear shirts with sleeves, so the hair on his arms brushes against her skin and she stifles a giggle at the tickling sensation. It’s warm in the trailer still, the heat from the oven still not quite dissipated, and it takes more heat for her to sweat, but she can feel the perspiration that’s starting to cover her daddy’s arms. She wrinkles her nose slightly, shifting a bit away, but otherwise stays in her position, relaxing in the feeling of family.

She’s almost asleep, has been dozing for almost five minutes, when a knock at the door shatters her world.

Her daddy stands, gently running his hand over her head, his attention soft and affectionate. She knows he doesn’t want to move her, but she doesn’t put up a fuss, only grumbling slightly and sitting up sleepily. He steps over Uncle Johnny’s sprawled form and opens the door.

She thinks it’s probably the last door he would open on his own for the next two years.

_ She’s entranced in her memory, drowning in what she can remember, but the names of the arresting officers aren’t something she learned. She wonders why. _

They make their way into the trailer that’s become overcrowded. They’re talking at her daddy, their voices cold and smug and she remembers that she didn’t understand.

Her daddy never trusted cops. Never liked them and always warned her to keep her head down and her name away from police. Her mother thinks differently, of course, friends with the police chief and a tongue sharp and charming enough to get out of every DUI she ever had written against her. Her daddy isn’t like that, though. He’s kind and warm, but he’s not charming and he refuses to bend to authority that he believes is unjust.

The officers continue to talk to her daddy and she watches them. She sees her daddy’s nervous and shocked demeanor. The way the police officers hold their stance, their confidence apparent in the boldness of their words and the straightness of their spines.

Grandma GG has put her cup down and has stood, making the short distance from her chair to where she sits, a pillow clutched tightly in her grasp.

“Let me take her into another room,” her grandmother simpers, trying to tug her up and away from her new world. 

“No,” replies one of the officers, his gaze shifting from her father to where she sits on the couch. “Let her know what kind of man her father is.”

She remembers his words. Of all the things to remember about that officer, it is his words that she remembers and clings to. It lets her be angry. Those callous words that dismissed her mental and emotional health are ones she will always remember. Those words that changed her very outlook on someone she loves. 

Her father is cuffed then and there, his mouth a white line as his hands are pulled behind his back. She hasn’t said anything yet, terrified that if she talks, they’ll take her too.

“Babydoll,” her father says, being led towards the door. “It’s gonna be okay, my sweet.”

It’s not going to be okay and they all know that. They push him out of the door, his words floating in from the old, worn down porch. She turns on the couch, the window behind her giving her a view of the police officers as they take her father away. 

He’s not wearing any shoes, is the thought that circles her mind as the police cruiser pulls out of her grandmother’s driveway, taking her father with it.

Her grandmother is crying from behind her and she hears her uncle cursing up a storm. Her grandmother is distraught and she should be comforting her, but all she can do is slowly turn around, her mind so confused it’s reached a numb state. 

Her grandmother is reaching for the phone on the stand beside her and she almost flinches. Neither of her remaining family members try to touch her, comfort her, both caught up in their own thoughts and feelings. 

She doesn’t understand. She knows that the police arrest bad people.They go after people to keep the town safe and happy. She is neither of those things. Her daddy, father, isn’t a bad man.

“Honey? Your mother is on her way to come pick you up,” her grandmother says softly, wringing her hands around the telephone in her hands.

She doesn’t have it in herself to reply. She sits there, her head hidden in the pillow she’s clutching so tightly. Her knees are forcing the pillow to push roughly into her face. She’s never felt like this before. Like something had been taken. She knows this isn’t right, that something she had cherished was now tarnished and stolen from her. 

She’s empty and aching by the time her mother arrives, the smell of booze on her breath.

She is taken home, to her mother’s house where she usually lives.  She’s told that everything was going to work itself out, that soon she’d be back to having Sunday night dinners with her father, grandmother, and uncle. 

She doesn’t see her father in person for two whole years. She sees a picture of him in the newspaper her mother tore up and threw in the trash. She doesn’t even think of how unsanitary it is to search through garbage. She can’t make herself act disgusted, not when she has just seen her father’s face for the first time in weeks. She collects his page from the paper and in desperation for a little privacy, she crawls her way underneath the kitchen table. She pieces the paper together from its ripped state and she slowly reads the article in the low light that creeps its way underneath the low hanging table cloth.

_ “…and Anthony wanted his daughter to know that he loves her very much…” _

She reads that line, over and over again, as she tries to imagine her father’s voice laced with affection as he smiles at her and tells her he loves her.

She can’t quite grasp it and it breaks her.

She is told that her father is now in prison. When her grandmother and uncle get ready to visit him, she turns to her mother, her eyes begging just as much as her mouth is.

She is told no and she sits in her room, the darkness around her all consuming.

She hasn’t seen or heard from her father in months when one day she finds a letter addressed to her on the kitchen table. The letter is encased in what used to be a white envelope, but what now looked like a canvas. A smiling sun with soulful eyes stared back at her, the moon on the other side mirroring the sun’s relaxed expression. Flowers lined the envelope’s edges, petals of different colors standing bright against the white background.

The return address is her father and his prison cell.

She almost tears it open, desperate to hear what her father has to say, but she pauses, taking in the art all over the envelope. It is hand drawn, she realizes. Her father drew her a sun, a moon, and so many pretty flowers. She is careful as she peels the envelope open, her hands shaking slightly. 

“ _Babydoll_ ,” the letter starts and she is lost to her emotions.

She cries as she reads it, her mind in turmoil as she reads his love and apologies in his own handwriting. It’s in cursive, something she still struggles with in school, but she stares at the words until they make sense to her, unwilling to let even one word go misunderstood.

Her mother is standing behind her by the time she’s done, a hand running up and down her back. Her mother’s nails scratch lightly at her, giving her a chance to cling onto the feeling of something grounding her.

She writes back to him and her letter is full of forgiveness.

She is never allowed to see him behind bars, but as soon as he’s transferred to a halfway house, she’s packing some books in her small backpack and climbing into the back of her grandmother’s van. They drive hours down the highway, the scenery around them blurring together. She is the first out of the van, eager to see him, to hear his voice.

They’re sitting at a small table in a rec room when he walks in the room. She stares at him, confused. His hair is short, his usual braided ponytail absent from his head. His full beard, once bushy and delightful, is nowhere to be seen, a freshly shaved face the only thing left to look at. 

He’s so different, she thinks, as he walks closer. He’s smiling, limping slightly due to the black boot that encompasses his left leg. She stays glued to her seat, her eyes wide as she meets his sparkling gaze.

“Hello, my sweet,” her father says and suddenly he’s her daddy again and she’s crying as she finally launches herself up from her seat and into his waiting arms. She stays attached to him the entire time they sit in the rec room. 

She accepts the kiss he gives her, his arms tightening around her tiny figure.

“It was so good seeing you, Babydoll,” her daddy whispers into her ear, giving her forehead a kiss. She misses his beard, the tickle she was so used to absent, but she doesn’t let that stop her from enjoying her daddy’s presence. Of his gentle hands and the longing in his eyes. 

She leaves, but the journey back home is far more animated than the last one. 

_ She blinks, surprised at the sting in her eyes, as she finds herself staring blankly at her TV. An episode of Law & Order: SVU is playing in front of her, Stabler interrogating some perp. She lets out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding and she feels her lungs burn in relief as she regulates her breathing. She struggles with her hands, but eventually they unclench from the pillow pressed against her. Her hands ache, cramped up and feeling the lack of blood flow. _

_ She ignores the pins and needles in her hands as she turns to her side table, unplugging her cell phone and dialing a familiar number.  _

_ “Hey, Babydoll, what’re you doing?” _

_ She smiles. _

_ “Hey, Papsa Bear. Not much, just chillin’.” _

_ “Like a villain?” her dad asks, the laughter in his voice apparent. _

_ “Always,” she replies cheekily, her grin wide. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> im all emotional lol


End file.
